


I'd Call That Drift Compatibility

by beachpartybb



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beachpartybb/pseuds/beachpartybb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on the Pacific Rim kink meme -- "When Raleigh gets to the base, Herc is already wounded and can't be the Jaeger pilot anymore. And somehow Raleigh happens to be drift-compatible not with Mako, but with Chuck, so now they are new co-pilots. Chuck is not happy, but only until their first drift..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Call That Drift Compatibility

His first thought was for the old man. He knew what they said about him, what they thought, but Herc was more than his copilot, and underneath the massive scar tissue of Chuck's young adulthood there remained a child's unconditional love for his father. So it was almost a full day -- 18 hours of touch-and-go in fluorescent medbays, of debriefing Pentecost, dodging Geiszler, checking on Max, slipping back, finally, to his father's bedside and the steady beep of the monitors -- before he realized the implication of Herc's injuries.

"What do you mean, 'grounded'?" He stared at Pentecost across the incongruously sleek, modern desk, incredulous, not even angry, yet, just prickles of sweat on his upper lip and below his eyes. Pentecost sighed and flicked a report closed.

"Striker is the fastest jaeger in the fleet. We've got ten kills. There's no better team--"

"But you don't have a team, Hansen. Herc hasn't even regained consciousness yet." Pentecost's face was smooth, his voice disinterested. Chuck opened his mouth to protest -- Herc would be fine, he'd pilot Striker alone, something, anything, just not the sidelines--

"Striker's the only jaeger that can get the payload into the Breach."

Pentecost nodded. "She is."

Chuck grit his teeth, Pentecost's studied impassivity wearing on his nerves. "I have to fight, sir. Please."

"You have no co-pilot."

"Then find me another one! There are 50 cadets in the Shatterdome with nothing to do but run sims and no chance of getting in the water. Or give me Mako. Anyone!"

Pentecost smiled and Chuck barely had time to realize that he'd been manipulated through the entire meeting, and even less time to dread whatever could make Pentecost smile like a demented Mona Lisa, before Pentecost slid a tablet across his desk.

"It's already been taken care of, Hansen."

Chuck looked down at the tablet and thumbed through the first few pages of the pilot's dossier. The breath in his lungs felt like the sea air just before a kaiju appeared, heavy pressure and acidic tang. His fist came down hard on Pentecost's desk and he met the Admiral's eyes.

"No."

"The decision has been made."

Chuck exploded to his feet, hours of forced civility and cooperation rebounding in a lathe of defiance. "I'll be damned before I Drift with some washed up, cowardly, has-been, son of a--"

* * *

 

"Deck crew, clear the cockpit."

Chuck sulked determinedly at Striker's displays, slouching in his harness and ignoring the man to his right. His silence was an almost palpable presence inside the cockpit. He hoped Becket choked on it.

Chuck was ill-suited for passive aggressiveness, but the more directly antagonistic approach he'd started out with had taken less than twenty-four hours to culminate in what would have been a grade-A ass kicking. He couldn't find it in himself to be grateful for Pentecost's intervention.

He flexed his hands and felt the raw skin of his knuckles catch on his gloves. A tech adjusted the seals at the wrists of his suit and tapped his helmet.

"Good to go, Hansen." The last of the crew loaded their cases and gear and left Striker to her pilots. Chuck could see the lights on Becket's helmet when the other pilot turned toward him.

"Hansen."

Chuck ground his teeth, torn by warring impulses. He desperately wanted to be back on the mission team, fighting something, ripping monsters apart with Striker's hands. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and tongued the split. But God, Becket got his back up. The urge to humiliate, to dominate, to hurt was almost overwhelming. He wasn't sure how disappointed he'd be if the handshake failed.

"Prepare for neural handshake in ten --"

"I'm gonna be in your head in ten seconds, kid. Can we cut the silent treatment?" Becket's voice was low and rasping in his ear and Chuck hated him.

"I'm not a kid, old man." Becket had the temerity to laugh. Chuck turned to stare at him."What?"

Becket shook his head, amused. "Nothing. You remind me of myself a little." Chuck gaped at him.

Raleigh Becket had been like a god to Chuck when he was in training. The shining example they'd all striven to emulate. And then one day, gone. Went into hiding to lick his wounds and never came out, an impulse Chuck would never understand, much less forgive. Gods must be punished for faults that in lesser men are excused.

"--three--"

"Chuck." Chuck kept his eyes resolutely forward. He heard Becket sigh. Then, under his breath: "Fine. Us, Drift compatibility, it's a joke, anyway."

"--two--"

Chuck felt his lips draw up in a sneer. "You're the one who's a joke, Raleigh. You're--"

"Neural handshake, initiating."

And they were in the Drift.

* * *

 

Choi nodded his head as his fingers flew over the console, a flickering stream of data dancing over his head. A red warning blinked in the corner of the display.

"What's that?"

Choi glanced up at Pentecost. "Neural handshake's strong and holding. But they aren't syncing."

Pentecost frowned. "I've never seen that before. Either the handshake fails or it doesn't. What's this mean for compatibility?" Choi shrugged. From the back of the room, Herc scoffed loudly.

"He's my son, and I love him. But compatibility isn't his strong suit. This is beyond a long shot."

Choi turned back to the console, grinning. "Give him a sec. Give 'em both just a second."

* * *

 

The Drift was chaos. Chuck battled against two streams of thought and memory, trying to keep his footing.

His father disappearing down a street in a military car. Crouching in the school refuge while the sounds of kaiju destruction thrummed through the concrete around him. His first kiss. His mother's hand on his forehead. Yancy holding him down in the front yard, their father tucking them in, his cowboy sheets that he'd gotten for Christmas, but that wasn't right, he didn't have a brother, no--

\--Herc is shaking his head, "Not again, son", and shame is welling up, disappointed, again, just once, I want to do it right--

Chuck screamed in his head, trying to sort himself out from the Other and his memories. He felt sick rising in his throat, sour and certain. He sent his mind out, grasping for anything, a point of reference, something to ground himself--

\--Raleigh and Yancy Becket, an informal Q & A. Chuck is fourteen and his father has brought him here, a treat, Gipsy Danger is Chuck's favorite and the Becket brothers are his heroes. Raleigh is young and cocky and laughing and Chuck doesn't know the word for how he feels, like he's high, or drunk, and he wants to be Raleigh--

"Hansen! CHUCK! Follow my voice!" Chuck reaches with that part of him that lives in the Drift.

"Becket? It's like-- waves. I don't know if I can--"

\--opens the door and Chuck is standing on the other side, angry, stiff, "I don't want you, didn't ask for you", Raleigh's jaw prickles, down into his neck, hopes he isn't flushing, Chuck's eyes are blue and he'd thought they were brown, the kid's kind of an asshole but he's beautiful and pure and Raleigh aches for what he's lost, "Are you listening, old man?", and Raleigh doesn't know the word for how he feels, like he's annoyed, like there's a beating to be handed out, like he just got cowboy sheets for Christmas, and he wants--

Then they're together, clinging to one another in the Drift as the maelstrom buffets them. Chuck tries to close his eyes but he has no eyes in the Drift.

"What's happening? I've never felt anything like -- I can't separate, Becket, I can't--"

\--his fist connects with the brat's face, and it feels good, feels alive for the first time in a long time, and Chuck tastes blood from where the old man busted his lip, laps at it and swallows, and Raleigh feels himself harden, that pink tongue, and he misses the punch on his left side, blocks poorly, and Chuck smiles, breathing hard--

\--licks him open, and then his fingers are knuckles deep, groans as he pushes the head of his cock past the ring of muscle, is pulled in, his balls nestled against the hard planes of the other man's ass, "This could be the last time, I drop tomorrow", and he thrusts, feeling the heat engulf him, giving himself up to pressure and speed and he's coming--

Chuck locks eyes with Raleigh, "Yours or mine?"

Raleigh grins, hands tight on Chuck's arms. "Ranger school hasn't changed all that much."

Around them the Drift is settling, subsiding into silence and Chuck feels himself regaining his body, slipping into the dual consciousness of the Jaeger pilot --

* * *

 

"--and we're in phase! Holy shit, I've never seen levels like this. Right hemisphere, calibrating. Left, hemisphere--" Pentecost cut Choi off.

"Gentlemen, how are you Drifting today?"

"Just fine, sir. Just fine."

Choi smiled over his shoulder at Herc. "Drift compatibility is confirmed. Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for Striker Eureka's new team!"

* * *

 

Afterward, there was a party. Wartime rations and engine room hooch and Chuck was hardly aware of the conversation or the company because he could feel Raleigh, just there, in the back of his head, like they'd never left the Drift, a feedback loop of intoxication and arousal.

He hadn't been able to look at Raleigh since they disengaged from the Drift, but he hadn't needed to. He knew the second they came into phase that this was where they were headed. The routine tests and combat drills had been tortuous, a testament to both their training, and Raleigh had a filthy mind and a better than average control of their Drifting.

Sometime between pleasantly drunk and absolutely pissed, Raleigh found him. Chuck was listening to Mako recount how exciting it was to watch the two of them manipulate Striker when Raleigh laid a hand on his shoulder. The ghostly Drift sensation intensified and Chuck swayed, unable to differentiate between realities.

Raleigh laughed, steadying him. "Woah! Sorry, Mako. I think my co-pilot has had a little too much to drink! Think I'd better put him to bed."

Mako smiled, ducking her head in a little half bow, and excused herself. Raleigh pulled Chuck against his side and slung an arm around his shoulders. Chuck never knew how they got through the press of people to the barracks but suddenly Raleigh was pressing against him, teething at his split lip, cupping him through his pants. Chuck was achingly hard and he could feel the pain of Raleigh's own erection through their residual link.

"Who's room is closer?" Raleigh asked against his mouth. Chuck struggled to do the mental calculation.

"Mine. No, wait. Herc is there. Yours." Raleigh made a sound like a growl and bit down on the place where Chuck's neck met his shoulder. "Shit. Shit, no, stop. I don't wanna come in my pants."

Raleigh's eyes were dark in the half light of the corridor. He braced himself on either side of Chuck's head. "I wanna split you open, Hansen. Fuck you until you Drift out of your mind, until you can't come any more and you're still begging for it." Chuck stared at him, the whole moment suddenly surreal, the man he'd hero-worshiped for so long whispering about licking come out of his arsehole, and he pushed down hard on the place in his mind where they were connected.

Raleigh's knees gave like a puppet with cut strings and Chuck stumbled, holding him up.

"Fuck, what was that?" Raleigh struggled to focus his eyes on Chuck's flushed cheeks, his pink mouth. "Do it again." Chuck hesitated, tracing his mental fingers around the edge of the thing in his mind.

"Rah-leigh," he drawled. "Do you have a Drift prostate in your head?" He smirked at the older pilot, raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to check it for you, old man?"

A second later, Chuck realized that Drifting was a two edged sword, and he was still blinking away the stars behind his eyes when he felt Raleigh's fingers wrap around his dick. Then Raleigh's cock was against his own, both in one big fist, and he was leaking so much precome no one even had to spit to make it smooth. A handful of strokes and they were coming, Chuck's head thrown back hard against the concrete, pain lost in the rush of endorphin, Raleigh's weight dragging them both down to the ground.

Chuck looked down in awe at their mingled come on his stomach. He ran a finger through it and held it up. Raleigh, head resting on one of Chuck's thighs, met his eyes. Chuck sucked the finger into his mouth, licking it clean.

"I'd call that Drift compatibility, wouldn't you?" He smirked at Raleigh.

The dark was back in Raleigh's eyes and their Drift link was pulsing with lust and promises.

"As soon as I get the feeling back in my legs, I'm taking you to my bunk and we're not coming out for anything but a kaiju."

Chuck's cock twitched against his belly, already stiffening again. Raleigh wiped a thumb across the head and smiled.


End file.
